


Sherlock: The Art of Disguise

by nero749



Series: Sherlock (BBC) [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nero749/pseuds/nero749
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once again the police come to Sherlock with a case they can't quite handle; a severed foot found in the river. Sherlock declines, believing he already knows what happened. But when new facts are revealed to him, he realises this might be a case worth his while after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: The Art of Disguise

**Author's Note:**

> Like the TV show, I've tried to incorporate an (updated) version of a canon Sherlock Holmes story. I won't tell you which one, but if you've read it I'm sure you'll be able to recognise it.
> 
> I wrote this back in 2010, so it's kinda old, but like I said I want to collect all my stuff on one account.

Sometimes John wondered where Sherlock got his money. He didn't get paid by the police and he quite often refused to take the money offered to him by the people he helped. John suspected Sherlock might have some kind of trust fund. After all, judging by Mycroft, the Holmes family could be a rich one. But it was so impossible to get anything out of Sherlock on the matter, or any matter really. If their roles were reversed, John had no doubt Sherlock would've figured it out within minutes.

"Home again, dear?" Mrs. Hudson came towards John.

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson," he answered. Why did he just say thank you?

She touched his arm in a loving gesture before leaving for the kitchen. John smiled at himself as he remembered all the times Mrs. Hudson had exclaimed she wasn't their housekeeper, while in fact she was much more like their mother.

"I do feel like I should warn you, he seems to be in a mood," Mrs. Hudson said as she returned from the kitchen carrying two teacups.

"When isn't he," John said under his breath as he followed Mrs. Hudson up the stairs. By now John had gotten used to it and considered any day he didn't come home to a Sherlock shooting the wall, a good day.

"Here you are, dear," Mrs. Hudson said as she placed one of the teacups on a small side table and handed John the other one. They both looked at Sherlock - who was standing by the window - waiting for him to say something. He did not.

John let out a small sigh and said, "Thank you Mrs. Hudson." She smiled at him, glanced at Sherlock and then left the room.

"You could at least…," John started to say, but then got distracted by what Sherlock was wearing. "Is that my jacket?" he asked. John was wearing his brown, suede jacket and he was fairly sure Sherlock was wearing his black jacket.

"Hmm?" Sherlock barely glanced at John. "Yes, I tried a shirt first, but it was too big."

The coat seemed to be too big as well, but that wasn't what John was trying to figure out. He cleared his throat. "Why are you wearing my jacket?" he asked.

"It's an experiment," Sherlock answered. "A new disguise I want to try out."

"Consisting of… my jacket?"

"Yes!" Sherlock said, turning on the bal of his foot to face John. To John it seemed like a rather useless disguise. Because this just looked like Sherlock. In a jacket.

John nodded, "Right," he said. "Can I have it back now?"

Sherlock looked genuinely perplexed. "You're already wearing a jacket," he answered.

John let out an aggravated breath. "True, but…"

"And I have yet to test my disguise."

John looked at him sheepishly. "Test it?"

"Yes, you didn't think I was testing it on you?"

John shook his head while trying to think of a reply when Sherlock's phone made a buzzing sound.

Please call me.

Lestrade

Sherlock glanced at the screen, smirked and then put the phone away. "Well I'm off to St. Bart's," he said.

"Er…," John tried to gage the situation, "do you want me to come with you?"

"No," Sherlock said brightly, "I want you to go to the police station."

"What?" The sheepish look returned to John's face.

"Lestrade has a case for me."

"And you think I can pass for Sherlock Holmes?" John asked dryly.

"Why not? You did once," Sherlock said, a smirk flashing across his face. John thought back to the case of the blind banker, he had only just finished his blog entry about it, and now he wondered if Sherlock had read it. "I want you to pick up the file."

"The file?" John asked. "Is there a file?"

"There always is," Sherlock said, "I just usually don't use it."

"And now?"

"And now I can't come in person, so I'm sending you to pick up the file. I would ask you to just bring me the data, but you seem to always fail to notice the important facts."

John clenched his jaw, trying to accept Sherlock just was always like this. "Fine," he finally said.

St. Bart's was one of the few hospitals that had managed to keep mint green away from most of their walls. Sherlock had several theories about why they had done this, but was too bored with the subject to pursue it seriously.

It was true that over the past five years Sherlock had spend quite a bit of time here, but still there were only a few people he had spoken to in that time. However, he was fairly sure most employees would have a pretty good idea of what he looked like, so they should be able to spot him. Therefore, this was a very good place to test his disguise.

John, though a good man, was not a very insightful man and had failed to identify what made this disguise a disguise. It wasn't just the fact that this slightly too big coat hid Sherlock's distinguishable, angular figure. Or that is was very different from his own coat, and therefore changed the first impression people would have of him. It was the fabric of the jacket, the fact that it was obviously inexpensive and worn quite a bit. The dozen or so pockets it had would indicate someone with a need for them, or someone practical. It were things any one would pick up on. And based on that, subconsciously half a dozen conclusions would be reached about the person wearing this coat.

And from there it would be fairly easy to manipulate people into believing he was any number of things, all Sherlock would have to do was change his way of walking, the way he used his voice, little ticks, body language any one would pick up on. Even people who had seen him in here before would be able to mistake him for someone else.

What John always failed to realise, was that it were the smallest things that were the most important. With the smallest changes in his posture and manner, Sherlock would easily pass for the relative of a recently deceased person. Or a intern on his first day. A doctor who had only recently passed his final tests…

And by the end of the day Sherlock had passed for all of them. He was just about to try one last character when he ran into the one person he wouldn't be able to fool. Molly. Sherlock turned to leave, not feeling the need to be bored, but she had already spotted him. "I didn't know you were here today," she said. Shyly smiling at Sherlock.

Bored, Sherlock thought to himself. Forgetting to answer Molly. Making Molly look at the floor and glancing up shyly.

"You're here for the foot, I think?" she asked in an unsure voice.

"Foot?" Sherlock asked, slightly more intrigued now, but still not hoping for too much.

"Yes," Molly answered, feeling encouraged by the change in Sherlock's manner. She smiled at him again. "Inspector Lestrade said you might be coming by to look at it… I think he might still be here."

Sherlock smiled, something new, he thought to himself. Molly, seeing the smile on Sherlock's face thought, maybe he does like me.

 

"Sherlock!" Lestrade said as Molly let Sherlock into the room. The room was mainly made up out of shining metal. Shining metal square doors, hiding shining metal trays with bodies on them, and one shining metal table, with one severed foot on it.

"You could at least have texted me back," Lestrade said aggravated.

"I thought I would just stumble in," Sherlock said, already devoting all his attention to the foot.

Lestrade half opened his mouth to say something else, but then he noticed something about Sherlock. "What are you wearing?" he asked.

"John's coat," Sherlock answered simply.

"Sharing wardrobes now?" Lestrade asked mockingly. Molly's face fell.

"Do you know who the foot belongs too?" Sherlock asked. His face was hovering just above the severed foot, and Molly imagined seeing him sniff it. Sherlock's eyes were tracing every inch of it.

Rich, went through Sherlock's mind.

"Of course we do!" Lestrade exclaimed. "For God's sake, if you're not even going to read the file, why did you ask for it?"

Sherlock smirked, imagining John sitting in their apartment with the file. "Keeping John busy," he said. "Now will you explain?"

Lestrade took in a deep, measured breath. Five years of having to deal with this man had left him with an unimaginable amount of self control, but it still took so much of him every time he had to bite his tongue around Sherlock Holmes.

"Rosa Windibank-Darvill, that's who the foot belonged to. We haven't found the rest of her."

"And she had been reported missing?"

"Yes, by her daughter, a week ago."

Sherlock glanced at Lestrade. "Now tell me why you asked me for this case." He straightened himself.

"Because I'm desperate," Lestrade said under his breath. "The mother disappeared just weeks after the daughter's fiancé had vanished as well. There are no obvious signs the two are related, but…"

"But obviously they must be," Sherlock said. Lestrade could hear Sherlock was becoming impatient and he knew he had to hurry up with saying something that would make Sherlock interested in taking the case - and from experience he knew he didn't have long.

"The fiancé had stood her up at the altar and was unreachable after…"

"Dull," Sherlock said. He turned around to leave.

"Then you know what happened?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock let out a deep breath. "Two people disappearing, the older one with quite a bit of money and the younger one leaving his fiancée, the older one turning up dead, and the younger one disappearing? Of course I know what happened," Sherlock rattled it off as if it was just nothing more than cold data to him. Parts of a machine moving in predictable ways.

"Wait a minute, I never said she had any…"

"Money? It's obvious, isn't it?"

Lestrade looked at Molly, than back at Sherlock. "From a foot?" he asked. After all the foot was the only thing of this case Sherlock had seen, so he had to have figured it out by that - somehow.

Sherlock nodded once.

"I don't see how you…" Lestrade started saying.

Sherlock turned from Lestrade. "Oh god," he said under his breath. Slowly, he took a step back, so he was now standing parallel to the bodiless foot.

Pointing at the foot he started to rattle off his findings, "On the second to last toe you can clearly see an indentation of a toe ring, the swelling of the foot makes it clear it was found in the water, yet there is no discolouration - that a cheap toe ring would have left - around the indentation, indicating the ring was made from precious metal, silver or gold," Sherlock moved around the table with the foot on it, locking eyes with Lestrade to make sure he was paying attention. Sherlock bended over the table, moving his face closer to the foot.

"Same thing with the indentation around the ankle. Most likely the swelling of the water caused the ankle chain to cut into the flesh leaving that indentation and once again no discolouration, therefore once again, precious metal." Sherlock straightened himself, once again locking eyes with Lestrade. "It's winter, not the best time to show off foot jewellery, that meant she wasn't showing off her two pieces of expensive jewellery, she just liked wearing it, even at the risk of damaging it. Obviously this wasn't something very precious to her, despite its monetary value. Meaning money probably came easy to her. That, combined with the pedicure - once again in winter, not to show at the beach then - would suggest someone with money. Then when you mentioned the fiancé of the daughter also disappearing it was confirmed. Fiancé of the daughter, therefore probably quite a bit younger than the mother than. Most likely he went after the mother for her money." Sherlock only paused long enough to take a breath. "Therefore, dull." He said and turned to leave. "Arrest the fiancé," Sherlock called back over his shoulder. Still looking perplexed, Lestrade turned to Molly, who was still staring at Sherlock's disappearing form.

 

"I hope it's worth it," John said, getting up as he heard Sherlock's footsteps on the stairs. "Because it took me quite a bit of effort to get Lestrade to give up the file to me." He met Sherlock at the door and as soon as Sherlock had taken off the Jacket and shoved it at John, John tried to hand him the file.

"I don't need it," Sherlock said, ignoring the file and letting himself fall into a chair.

"You don't need it," John said aggravated, throwing his jacket over the back of a chair and then turning back to Sherlock. "And why not?"

"Already solved it," Sherlock said, looking around his chair for his violin.

"You solved it," John repeated, "without even looking at the case?"

"I looked at the foot, that was enough," Sherlock said, barely even glancing at John.

John let out a sigh and sat down in the chair opposite Sherlock's. "The foot," he said slowly. "All right, let's hear it then," he said.

Sherlock cocked his head.

"I at least want to know the answer," John said sincerely. "Who killed them?"

"Them?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, the mother and the fiancé."

Sherlock smirked, "You assume they're both dead?"

"Well… yes," John said hesitantly.

"Once again you manage to miss the most important and obvious facts of the case," Sherlock said.

John gritted his teeth. "Fine, then lets hear your explanation."

Sherlock pressed his fingertips together and took a deep breath. "Simple, it was the fiancé, he killed the mother for her money, most likely first seduced her, after seducing the daughter and finding it easier to get to the money through…"

"The mother didn't have any money," John interjected.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I know that she…"

"The daughter had all the money," John continued.

Sherlock shifted in his seat. "The fiancé left the daughter, who had money, for the mother who didn't have any money?"

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No it doesn't," Sherlock said, now leaning forward in his chair. "Where did the mother get her money from? I know she had it."

"From the daughter," John answered.

"From the daughter?" Sherlock seemed genuinely surprised.

"Yes, the daughter has a trust fund, set up for her by her uncle. Her mother and father were managing the money for her."

Sherlock nodded and John knew he was processing this information and probably already coming to new conclusions. Suddenly Sherlock jumped up and tossed his phone at John. "Text Lestrade and tell him I'll take the case after all," he said.

Sherlock took his own coat from the back of the door. The coat swung through the air as Sherlock put it on. "Done?" he asked.

"And… send. Yes," John said.

"Coming?" Sherlock asked over his shoulder.

"Coming?" John repeated sheepishly.

"Yes, visiting the daughter."

"Oh, right… Yes, of course," John got up and put on the black jacket he'd just swung over the back of the chair.

"I thought you might have to go to the clinic," Sherlock mocked.

"Yes, some of us have to work for their money," John mumbled, while following Sherlock down the stairs.

 

It took the cab at least three full minutes to get all the way up to the house, from the gates. John was staring at it in awe. It was white, gigantic and obviously incredibly expensive.

Sherlock was typing something on his phone and only briefly glanced out of the window to register everything he had to about the house.

Mary Sutherland, daughter of Rosa Windibank-Darvill, opened the door herself. She couldn't be much older than twenty years old. She was slightly overweight, short and wearing a shirt with a very distracting pattern and pink fur at the sleeves and neck. Despite everything that had happened to her in the past weeks, she greeted Sherlock and John with a warm smile.

They sat down and Mary got John a cup of tea - Sherlock didn't want anything. And as John concentrated his energy on his cup of tea, Sherlock looked around the room.

Eventually Mary sat down in front of them. Sherlock looked at her in that way that told John he was already drawing conclusions. "Inspector Lestrade had told me I could expect you, inspector Holmes," she said, then hesitated before adding, "and Dr. Watson." Clearly it was a strange concept to her, that the police would send her an odd couple like these two to help solve the case.

"It's just Sherlock," Sherlock said, smiling briefly. "And John," he added. John nodded, still holding on to his tea.

"I don't know how much I can still tell you, I mean I'm presuming you've already heard all the facts," Mary said uncertain.

"I find the most important facts are often left out of police files," Sherlock said, glancing at John. "Just explain the situation. Why were you the one to file the missing person's report?"

Mary blinked with her eyes. "For my mother? Hmm, I wasn't happy with how calm my father was treating the situation."

"Stepfather, I assume?" Sherlock asked.

Mary frowned a little. "Yes…"

"His last name is different to yours," Sherlock briefly explained while gesturing to the unopened mail lying on the small side table next to his side of the coach.

"Oh right. My mother wanted me to try and call him father. It feels a bit strange to me because he's only five years older than I am."

"And your mother, how old is she?" John asked amazed.

"She's 49," Mary said, clearly not entirely comfortable with the situation herself.

"And what does she do?" Sherlock asked Mary.

"Er… nothing really. She used to own a paper company with my father, but after he passed away and she married James, my stepfather, she sold it."

"Did she want to sell it?" Sherlock asked.

"No, James convinced her it would be for the best. They didn't get a lot for it, after my father died the business kind of started to go downhill."

"Then where did she pay this house with?" Sherlock asked. John wondered what he was after, after all they already knew the mother was living off the daughter's money.

"I pay for the house," Mary said. "My uncle left me his entire estate when he passed away, most of it in a trust fund."

"That you let your mother and stepfather manage?" Sherlock asked.

Mary shrugged. "While I'm living here, yes."

"But it's your money," John said.

"Yes," Mary said defensively, "and they are my family. Besides, I make enough money as a stenographer to get by and I don't really have a lot of expenses."

"You never… I don't know, go on a shopping spree?" John asked jokingly, smiling.

Mary shrugged again. "As I said, I make enough money to cover my expenses and I don't really go out that much."

"You never spend any of your own money?" John asked.

"If I had something I wanted…"

"You don't want to travel?" Sherlock asked. John looked at him and tried to figure out what Sherlock had noticed about Mary, that made him ask this question.

"I don't… I'm not really very good around people," Mary said.

John looked at her and felt the need to say something to make her feel better, but couldn't think of anything. Still, Mary didn't seem uncomfortable around other people, she was kind and warm.

"Then how did you meet your fiancé?" Sherlock asked with no tact at all.

Mary looked a bit caught off guard. "There was this one party given by my aunt, and I really wanted to go…"

"Yes?" Sherlock pushed.

"James didn't think it was a very good idea."

"Why not?" John asked.

"Because of the kind of people who would come there."

"What kind of party was it?" John asked surprised.

"And your stepfather says you're not good around people," Sherlock remarked.

John looked at his friend, wondering what conclusion he had just come to.

Mary's face flushed. "Yes," she said.

"But you went to the party without his permission," Sherlock stated.

Mary looked shocked at the fact that Sherlock guessed this, but John just accepted it. "He wasn't in town. He travels a lot - he writes for a travel guide."

"And it was here you met your fiancé?"

"Yes, that's where I met Hosmer."

John had to stop himself from laughing a little at the name, what was it with weird names and this family? On the other hand, maybe he wasn't one to speak, what with having Sherlock as a best friend.

"And you never told your stepfather?"

"No, we kept it secret, I only told my mother, but she was very happy for me."

"And how did your stepfather react when he found out you'd gone to the party?"

"He didn't mind."

"Despite being against it at first?"

Mary nodded in a way that made it clear that she didn't find it suspicious at all.

"Once your stepfather was back from his trip, did you see Hosmer again?"

"Only twice, it was very hard avoiding James. But we emailed constantly."

"Would you mind printing a few of those out for me?" Sherlock asked.

"No, of course not, I'll do it right now," Mary said and she left the room.

As soon as the door closed Sherlock jumped up, He stood in the middle of the room, one hand on his hip and turning on the ball of his foot. John slowly got up as well and looked around the room as well, but couldn't see what Sherlock was looking for.

Suddenly Sherlock strut across the length of the room, ending at a bureau. He studied it from a distance first, than pulled open drawers, and shutting them seemingly without even bothering to look at their contents.

John glanced around the room nervously now, because if Mary came back to find them like this, what could he say? "Sherlock,"John hissed, but Sherlock ignored him. Instead he abruptly turned around and walked over to the window, looking out over the garden surrounding the house.

The door opened and Mary entered, holding a thick pile of paper. "I didn't know which ones you wanted, so I printed them all out,"she said apologetic.

"Very good," Sherlock said, taking the papers from Mary and handing them over to John. "And you received no emails after he stood you up at the altar?" Sherlock asked.

"No, none," Mary said, her voice sounding sad for the first time since they'd gotten there. "And he didn't exactly leave me at the altar."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"The car was just… empty, when it got to the church," Mary said.

"Yes, it's in the police rapport," John said, but Sherlock gestured for him to shut up.

"The car was empty, but do you know for certain he got into the car?" Sherlock asked.

Mary nodded. "Yes, absolutely, the limo driver was certain."

"Hosmer disappeared between his own house and the church, while in the limo, you're certain of it?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," Mary said.

Sherlock lifted his chin a little, what John knew meant he had just figured something out.

"Well that is all we need," Sherlock said, moving towards the door. "Just tell me, how did your parents react to Hosmer's disappearance?"

"James was very angry with Hosmer for having treated me like that. He said I shouldn't let it bother me, that there are just men like that in the world. And my mother just never wanted to discuss it."

"You were the one to file his missing person's report as well, right?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, because neither James nor my mother seemed to believe something had happened to him."

Sherlock slowly nodded. "Right," he said and abruptly turned and left.

John was left looking slightly baffled. "Erm, I'll just…" he pointed at the door. "It was nice to meet you," he said to Mary before running after Sherlock.

 

As John caught up with Sherlock, he could see the familiar smirk on his friends face. "You've already worked it out, haven't you?" he said.

"Most of it," Sherlock said, his smirk growing in size.

"Well? Let's have it," John said.

"Not quite yet," Sherlock said, "I have to go through the emails first."

"Why? If you already know the answer?"

"It's dangerous to come to conclusions before examining all the facts."

John raised an eyebrow at that, after all, wasn't that exactly what Sherlock always did? "All right, so what do we do now?"

"Read the emails," Sherlock said, picking up the pace to reach the main road. John let out a long, aggravated breath and followed Sherlock.

 

John was tapping on the arm of his chair. He was bored. Sherlock was going through the emails and John had tried to help, but every time he picked up one, it seemed to be exactly the one Sherlock wanted to examine right that second. So he had given up on trying to help, but he was too curious to concentrate on anything else.

"Look," he said eventually, "if you could just…"

"Read this John," Sherlock handed him a sheet of paper.

John read it over, trying to see why Sherlock had him read it, knowing Sherlock might mock him if he didn't get it.

"What do you observe?" Sherlock asked.

"Erm, he uses a lot of metaphors? His grammar is a bit odd?"

"All valid points, but I would like you to concentrate on the contents, especially the last paragraph."

John reread it but couldn't see what Sherlock found suspicious.

"Don't you find it odd that's he's being so persistent on Mary waiting for him if anything would happen? That they 'will be together sooner or later.'"

"Not really, isn't that what you always say when you're in love?"

"Perhaps," Sherlock said, "but is it what you would tell your fiancé the morning of your wedding?"

John's eyes flashed to the date of the email. "You think he knew something was going to happen to him?"

"I do," Sherlock said, "but not in the way you're thinking of."

"Than in what way…"

"Here, read this," Sherlock handed John another email.

John read it. "They met up, so?"

"They only met face to face three times. Two times when the stepfather was France and once when he was in Italy."

"Wait a second, how do you…"

"His agenda, John," Sherlock responded impatiently, "it was on his bureau."

"Ah," John said.

"And this is the third time they met up, and the time Hosmer proposed to Mary."

"How could you possibly…"

"For one thing, it's seems highly unlikely that Hosmer would propose over email, so seeing as how this was the last time they met face to face… Also, in the next email he's calling Mary his fiancée."

"All right," John said.

"You see now?"

John nodded. "No," he said.

Sherlock let out a deep breath and jumped up from his chair. "Look up the description of Hosmer." Sherlock tossed John the police file. "Read it out to me."

John had stopped trying to argue during moments like these and simply obeyed, "Short, slightly heavy built, pale, black hair, dark side burns, bushy moustache, tinted glasses, weak voice."

Sherlock nodded. Then locked eyes with John, apparently expecting him to get it after that short description of Hosmer. "I still don't see it," John said.

Sherlock lifted his face to the sky and shook his head. "You see as much as I do, but you do not observe," Sherlock said. "Tell me what you notice about this description."

"Hosmer was a very hairy man," John said dryly.

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"I still don't follow," John said. Sherlock shook his head at him again.

John looked away, irritated. "Do you know what happened to Mary's mother and Hosmer?" He asked.

"Yes," Sherlock answered, moving to the kitchen table, where his laptop stood. "And I know exactly where we can find Hosmer." It was the last thing Sherlock said all night long. He sat down behind his laptop and started typing. John sighed and switched on the TV.

 

The next day John was at the clinic again. Going through patients like crazy, trying to make up for his rather bad first impression. It was already dark outside when he heard his mobile buzzing on his desk.

221b Bakerstreet.

Come now. Urgent.

John sighed and put the phone away. He had been planning on staying a bit longer today, to show his willingness to put in the hours. He bit his lip and kept glancing at the phone from the corner of his eye.

"Fine,' he said to himself as he got up and left for 221b Bakerstreet.

Even from down here, John could see Sherlock standing by the window, looking out over the street. He wasn

't waiting for John, was he?

"Are you just coming home, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked. How did she always know exactly when he came in?

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson," John said as he walked up the stairs.

Sherlock turned to face him with a rather eager look on his face, which made John feel uncomfortable.

"John, just in time!"

"For what?" John asked hesitantly.

"For our guest!"

"Our guest?"

"Yes! Mr. Hosmer Angel!" Sherlock walked back to the window.

"You found him?" John asked astonished.

Sherlock turned around with a frown on his face. "Of course I did! Do you still not see?"

John sighed. "No, I still don't see."

Sherlock went back to looking out the window. "Last night I emailed James Windibank, telling him I'd found Hosmer Angel and would confront him soon. I told him I didn't want to upset Mary, and so we should deal with this matter."

"And where is Hosmer?"

Sherlock ignored John's question. "Then, just 30 minutes ago, I emailed Windibank again, telling him I'd confronted Hosmer Angel and that I would be meeting him here tonight. So we can expect Mr. Windibank any moment now."

"Sorry?"

"Trust me, he will have immediately rushed out to get here, the second he got the email."

"Maybe he doesn't read his emails that often."

Sherlock glanced at John and smirked, "I am reasonably sure Mr. Windibank emails quite a lot. And my email of yesterday would've ensured that he will be checking his email every minute."

"Really?" John wasn't convinced.

"Ah, there he is!" Sherlock exclaimed.

John walked over to the window and saw a man standing across the street, looking nervously up and down the street and fidgeting with his left sleeve. Then, out of the blue, the man rushed forward and they could hear the doorbell.

"Sherlock, someone here to see you, dear," Mrs. Hudson said as she led the man up the stairs.

"Ah, Mr. Windibanks," Sherlock said. "That'll be all Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said.

"Not your landlady, dear," Mrs. Hudson said warningly, waving a hand and disappearing down the stairs again.

"Mr. Holmes, how do you…," James Windibanks started to say.

"Sherlock, please," Sherlock said, "And I'll call you James, if that's alright."

"But how…"

"I've seen your photograph," Sherlock said, "and read your description."

James Windibank was a short man of medium built. He had dark hair, very blue eyes and looked older than his 28 years. John was fairly sure there hadn't been a description of James in the police file.

"Why are you here, James?" Sherlock asked, gesturing for the man to sit while taking a seat himself.

"I just wanted to know if you'd gotten any further in the case. I was on my way back home, so I thought I might as well…"

"Very unlikely," Sherlock interjected.

"I'm sorry?" James seemed startled by this remark.

"You came straight from your home," Sherlock stated simply.

"No I…"

"Straight from your bed, in fact," Sherlock said, looking James up and down. "Right after the email. And judging by the state you're in, you left home in quite a bit of hurry."

James looked absolutely terrified now, obviously caught in the lie. Though John didn't understand why he would feel the need to lie at all.

"I told you, I…"

Sherlock completely ignored this obvious attempt of James' to save face. Instead, he stopped James from saying any more by immediately starting to explain how he'd gotten to his conclusions. As usual Sherlock rattled it all off in one breath, and using hardly any punctuation. "You missed several buttons on your shirt while hastily putting it on, your pants are crinkled, obviously not clean - no time to find anything else. Your shoes, though very similar in colour and model, do not match. Your breath was very minty, suggesting you either stopped for mouth freshener despite your hasty departure, or you had just brushed your teeth. Presumably you'd wanted to make this an early night - maybe to catch up on the sleep you've been missing for several…," Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "…weeks, judging by the bags under your eyes. Then you saw the email, because you were paying close attention to your emails - I'm guessing you had your phone next to your bed. When you saw it was from me and what it said you hastily got up, got dressed in the first things in your reach and came here."

James gave a violent start. "I… I…"

"Read I had found Hosmer Angel and had to come," Sherlock concluded.

James moved uneasily in his chair. John looked at the scene and thought he might have finally figured out what was going on.

"And have you?"

"I told you I did," Sherlock said.

"Yes," James looked at Sherlock. "Will the police be able to catch him?"

"Catch him?" Sherlock locked eyes with James. "I already have," Sherlock said, slowly rising from his seat. His tall figure was now looming over James. "I'm just not certain if they'll be able to get a conviction." Sherlock walked over to the door.

"You caught him?" James turned in his seat to look at Sherlock, he was truly astonished at this fact.

"Yes, of course," Sherlock said, turning the key in the lock. "After all, you are Hosmer Angel."

John would've laughed at this, if the terrified expression on James' face didn't make it completely clear that Sherlock was right.

James managed to compose himself enough to be able to speak again. "That's just ridiculous. I know you have the reputation of…"

"That really won't do," Sherlock said, moving towards James. "There's simply no denying it, the facts paint a very clear picture."

Albeit one only Sherlock Holmes can see, John thought to himself, still recovering from the shock of this latest development. James was still sitting in his seat, little drops of sweat forming on his brow.

"You obviously started courting Rosa Darvill because of her money. It was only later you discovered it was in fact the daughter who has the money, but by then it was too late for you to start courting the daughter, so you married the mother instead. After all, Mary's money was managed by her mother, meaning you could still enjoy it. That's to say, as long as she stayed at home. Which would probably be for a while because she was very distant from people and you made sure she would remain so by telling her she was bad around people and should stay away from parties.

"But when she started to show an interest in meeting new people, you knew it wouldn't be long before she would want a life of her own and would leave the house. And you assumed she would take the money with her. So you conceived of a plan to make her distrusting of new people," Sherlock said.

James just sat there, frozen by fear or maybe shame. John could finally see where this was going, and he felt a cold hatred forming for the man sitting in the chair in front of him.

"Rosa wasn't very strong willed and you are very dominant, so I imagine it didn't take too much effort to convince her to go along with the plan. After all, she also loved the luxuries her daughter's money brought her."

"How did you know they were the same man?" John asked.

"James here is an amateur actor - there were several framed pictures on his bureau, all of shows he'd done. That means he probably has access to everything he needs to disguise himself. And you have to admit, the description of Hosmer Angel was filled with things one would find in a over the top disguise."

John thought back to the description, but it still seemed like a gigantic leap to John. He also couldn't help but be reminded of what Sherlock had told him just yesterday about disguises.

"Then there was the fact that Hosmer only appeared in person, when James was out of the country. And his insistence on Mary's loyalty to him, should he disappear. After all, that was the goal of all of this, to make Mary distrust any new people she would meet from that point on."

"But how did he disappear from the limo?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed. "He went in one door, and got out the other," he stated simply. "That was one of the most important clues. You do not disappear from a moving car, so it was fairly obvious Hosmer had gotten out himself, before the car ever started moving. I'm assuming of course that it was a limo with tainted glass placed between the driver and backseat to create privacy?" Sherlock turned to James, but he wasn't answering.

"Did he…," John glanced at the man Sherlock had trapped in their apartment, worrying about what might set him off. "Did he kill the mother?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course he did." Sherlock fixed his gaze on James. "She wanted to tell her daughter the truth, didn't she? She felt guilt. But that would cost you your money."

John looked at Sherlock, then at James and there was no doubt that Sherlock was right.

"I do not know how you did it, how you murdered her - without a body it isn't likely we will find out. But I am fairly certain it was an accident."

"They only found a foot because he tried to get rid of the body?"

"Yes," Sherlock said coldly.

James, meanwhile, seemed to have recovered some of his calm. He slowly rose to his feet and very calmly said, "I don't know how you've come to these absurd conclusions and I certainly haven't heard anything that could be proven beyond a doubt."

Sherlock's expression turned hard, however he had no retort, because James was right.

"Yet I do know," James continued, "that you are breaking the law yourself, by keeping me locked up here. I know your name detective Holmes - I looked you up - and I will be pressing charges against you if you do not open that door. The police can't treat people like this, and you can't lock me up without a provable reason."

"Very true," Sherlock said, moving towards the door. "And I am not certain whether this will stand up in court." He unlocked the door an threw it open. "However, I will be telling your stepdaughter my findings and I'm fairly certain she will take her money - and her house - away from you."

James clenched his jaw.

"I might even advice her to hire someone to take care of you," Sherlock said with a smirk on his face.

"You can't do that, you're police," James said arrogantly, though his fear was only thinly veiled.

"Ah, you have missed something vitally important in your research," Sherlock said as the grin grew wider. "I am only a consulting detective, so I can pretty much do whatever the hell I want." He locked eyes with James. "John," he said without breaking his stare. "Get your gun please."

James' calm disappeared completely as he lunged forward, pushed past Sherlock and dashed down the stairs. John could hear Mrs. Hudson exclaim as the man flew through the front door.

Sherlock smiled, but the smile soon disappeared.

"Do you really think they won't be able to convict him?" John asked.

"Unfortunately, yes, I do think he will get away with it." Sherlock slumped down in a chair and switch on the TV.

"But we will tell Mary what happened?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. John could see he was bothered by the fact they couldn't do anything about it. But Sherlock's brilliant insights could hardly be used as evidence.

John stared at the TV and something else dawned on him. "The ironic thing is, James will have succeeded."

Sherlock looked at John, his eyebrows raised.

"James wanted Mary to be distrusting of people," John explained, "I'm pretty sure he will have succeeded in that now."

Sherlock looked at the TV again. He didn't say anything, maybe because he wasn't willing to try and draw conclusions that had to do with emotions, things you couldn't turn into cold data, effects you couldn't reproduce. But John had started to suspect there were other reasons for Sherlock never wanting to touch the emotional side of their cases.

"When I go and see Mary," John said, assuming Sherlock would not come with him. "Should I still advice her to find someone to take care of James?" John joked.

Sherlock smirked. "Certainly, tell her I'm free next week."


End file.
